


Tiramisu

by straylize



Category: Persona 3, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, M/M, pegokita, soft pegokitas for pegokita day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize
Summary: Akira hasn't had the best luck with birthdays, and Minato? Minato wants to give him a birthday he'll never forget.





	Tiramisu

Minato had insisted that a birthday date just wasn’t possible.

In a sense, it had almost been a little heartbreaking; Akira had looked almost like a sad, lost puppy when Minato had made that declaration. All the same, heartbreaking as it was, it was also… cute, he thought. There was a quiet sincerity that had come with Akira arguing the point, that he wanted Minato there on his birthday—the first birthday he was able to celebrate with all of the most precious people in his life. Minato, for his part, had been adamant, though. It came with a gentle cupping of Akira’s cheeks, a faint smile, and the encouragement to enjoy that time with his friends in the Phantom Thieves.  Akira’s response had been a disappointed sigh and a stolen kiss, but a knowing that Minato’s mind wouldn’t be changed.

In the time they’d had to get to know each other, they figured out the other’s quirks rather well. They were both stubborn to a fault when they wanted to be, and while it meant that sometimes, they would butt heads, it also meant that they were able to compromise—and that these conflicts usually came with a reason. If Minato had been that adamant that he couldn’t be there for Akira’s birthday, he had to have a good reason; Akira trusted in the fact that Minato wouldn’t intentionally avoid something like that. Birthdays had never been all that important to Akira, not for his own, at least. But his friends, and even Minato himself, had made him want to care a little more. His last two birthdays had been awful, after all. One being caught up in the aftermath of the assault case and his impending sentencing, and the other in the aftermath of his arrest and imprisonment for his actions as the leader of the Phantom Thieves. Neither had been ideal, and with this birthday being one where he was finally a man free of society’s chains, with those who understood him at his side… it finally seemed worth celebrating, as far as he was concerned.

So even though it absolutely  _ sucked _ that Minato wouldn’t be there for that day, he also trusted Minato when he laid claim to the fact that they would make up for it over the next weekend.

...Little did Akira know, that it was all a ruse.

Minato had it planned to the letter, meticulous in every detail. Akira would come down to Tokyo for the weekend to visit and celebrate his birthday. He’d stay in his old room in Leblanc’s attic, and the Phantom Thieves would treat him to a day out on the town, for whatever it was they decided on; that was something he was able to trust Ann and Makoto to plan along with the others. When the night was upon them and it was time to go their separate ways, Akira would return to Leblanc. Minato spent the day preparing his plan while Akira was away; the rest of the planning included getting Sojiro’s permission to use the kitchen once the café was closed, and ensuring that his gift was properly in order.

Night fell early; late February didn’t lend itself well to extended daylight, after all, and with the icy chill in the air, the customers seemed to stay away. The café was quiet, enough so that Sojiro conceded to closing shop early and leaving Minato to his plan—one that he could only admit to himself, and not Minato, was very sweet. Akira picked a winner, he couldn’t really deny that to himself, despite his often gruff way of showing approval. With Minato having the space to himself, he got to work on preparing what he needed to.

He knew he had a few hours before Akira would be back, and as he focused on the task at hand, his mind wandered with the quiet thoughts of how he had arrived here. Truthfully, he had more to thank Akira for than he would really ever be able to put into words. Akira had saved him—literally, and figuratively. He knew that if it wasn’t for Akira’s persistence, his determination, and his unwavering resolve, that things wouldn’t be like this.

Humanity had once longed for death. That longing for death had brought about a need to call for Nyx to bring an end to it all. It had brought a need for Erebus to make that call, to summon her to bring about The Fall. Minato had given his life, his soul to stop that from happening—but it had only been a stop-gap solution. He could seal away Nyx, but it wouldn’t stop Erebus from existing, from trying, and Minato had never known if his soul could truly hold it off for an eternity. He didn’t know if humanity would ever stop longing for death, or if Erebus could truly ever be defeated. He learned later, of course, that his friends in SEES had staved it off once; he learned as well, that Elizabeth would do the same, but humanity’s subconscious couldn’t let it be defeated.

Something had changed, somewhere along the way. Somewhere in the seven years that he had been acting as the Great Seal, humanity didn’t long for death anymore. Humanity, people—they had grown apathetic. They didn’t wish for death, but for a status quo. For someone to control them, for someone to herd them like sheep from one fate to the next. Somewhere along the way, the call of Erebus to Nyx had been weakened because of this subconscious shift. And Akira—he had harnessed that in ways that Minato couldn’t have ever imagined. He had found those who were formally in SEES rather inadvertently, though it wasn’t until Fuuka had addressed her ability to sense his Persona that things came to light. One thing had led into another until Akira had learned of Minato, his role as the Great Seal—and it was all history from there. Somehow, Akira, alongside the Phantom Thieves and the Shadow Operatives, had found a way to defeat Erebus and keep Nyx at bay all the same.

The only real mystery had been how Minato could still live, still exist even though his flesh had long since been buried, and he should have been dead. Minato had supposed that cognition was truly something powerful, even if his understanding of it had only come from hearing the stories of Akira’s exploits as Joker. Regardless, the methodology didn’t matter so much when it had given him a chance to live again. It wasn’t as if he’d ever  _ wanted _ to stop living, after all. He made his sacrifice to protect everyone else; he’d become an unsuspecting messiah, and Akira had been the one to pull him from the fate. He owed Akira so much, and while it wasn’t as if he’d fallen for Akira  _ because _ Akira had saved him—he could never, not for a single moment, deny that his willpower and unwavering beliefs had attracted him like a moth to a flame. Things had between them had moved pretty quickly; though Akira lived a few hours away by Shinkansen after leaving Tokyo, it never seemed to hinder anything. They spoke via chat every day, they would meet up on weekends and other days they had off, and the chemistry had been something unlike anything Minato had ever experienced. So it was beyond him to deny Akira’s feelings when they were revealed, and now, it was the first birthday of Akira’s that Minato would be able to celebrate with him.

So of course, it had to be something special. It was hardly  _ extravagant _ , by any stretch. Minato wasn’t the sort to carry out large, sweeping gestures of romance (that was Akira’s job, after all), but small and more meaningful ones were always his strong suit. And somehow, those always seemed to be the ones that made Akira’s heart beat a little faster, anyway. That was exactly why he prepared things as he did, careful and meticulous in every detail. For someone who often seemed a bit apathetic himself, Minato absolutely paid close attention to detail, vaguely like a perfectionist.

Hours passed, and with everything prepared, Minato was left to wait for Akira to arrive. He sat in the backmost booth of Leblanc, and took the time to fuss with his phone. He checked his email, fired off a couple of misleading messages to Akira, and spent a little time on a mobile game that Futaba and Fuuka both seemed to enjoy a lot. Near the eight o’clock hour, he finally heard the key turn in the door, and that was when Minato’s attention perked; he shifted to get up from his seat.

“Welcome back,” he offered with a quiet smile once Akira had closed the door behind him. But rather than get a very standard ‘I’m back,’ in response, Akira stood there, silent. The surprise in his eyes was evident—without his glasses to shield his expressions, it was impossible to miss—which only made Minato feel a bit more satisfied with his decision to leave his birthday plans a surprise.

Minato made his way toward Akira before there was any response; he closed the gap by way of pushing himself up on the balls of his feet to press a light, chaste kiss to Akira’s lips. “Happy birthday.”

The stunned silence lasted a moment longer before Akira moved a little more suddenly to wrap his arms around Minato; he pulled him into a tight hug before speaking even a single word.

“It’s not fair,” he murmured. He didn’t sound at all unhappy with it, though; if anything, it sounded as if Akira was a bit overwhelmed by the gesture. In tone, at least, because his words clearly betrayed that tone. “The thief is the one who is supposed to use deception and stealth.”

But Minato couldn’t do much but laugh softly, shaking his head a bit as he buried it in Akira’s chest for the moment. It was a nice feeling, he thought. Even though Akira’s grasp on him was firm, he was gentle, and the scent of him managed to make Minato’s heart flutter a bit as well.

“Someone has to keep you on your toes,” Minato retorted softly before he finally drew back. He shook his head a bit, as if to move his mildly disheveled hair back into place before gesturing to the booth. “Now go sit.”

“Demanding.”

“Mm, but you like it,” Minato noted. Even though Akira was the one with the sweeping gestures and at times, over-the-top nature, he was often willing to take a backseat to Minato’s demands. Usually, it was because those demands were hardly anything confining—they always seemed to end with things he liked.

“When you say it like that, I’m wondering if you’re going to want to start borrowing Ann’s whips.”

“...” Minato paused briefly; they both knew that wasn’t his thing at all. And he knew that Akira really wouldn’t enjoy that either. Yet still, as he made his way to the refrigerator to pull out the fruits of his earlier labor, he made another retort. “Just as long as I don’t have to wear the catsuit.”

“You could pull it off,” a smirk formed on Akira’s lips as he spoke, playful and not at all demanding of anything like that to ever happen. It was an instinctual response to gain a reaction—which was met with Minato rolling his eyes as he closed the door to the refrigerator.

“Keep dreaming, birthday boy,” dryly, the words came from his mouth as he made his way back to the booth. On the table he placed what appeared to be some kind of cake—or at least, Akira thought it was.

For a moment, he looked at the dessert. After that moment passed, he raised a hand to ruffle his hair a bit. It didn’t look anything like any cake he’d ever had before—not that it looked bad, by any stretch. But certainly, it was unfamiliar. Most birthday’s he’d ever celebrated came with a standard strawberry shortcake, sometimes decorated with a birthday message, and sometimes not. But this cake was decidedly a bit more brown; it lacked frosting, or fruit, and it didn’t look to be a chocolate cake, either.

He was puzzled.

And because he was puzzled, it caused Minato’s brows to draw together as he sat. He knew it wasn’t exactly flawless in appearance; it was his first time making something like this, so it wouldn’t compare to what could be bought in a café. Still, he didn’t think it looked that bad.

“Something wrong?” Minato’s head tilted to one side for a moment.

“No, but…” there was a short pause before Akira looked at him, confusion still present on his face. “What kind of a cake is this?”

_ Oh. _ It only took Minato a moment to realize that Akira had never even seen this before. And he supposed it wasn’t all that strange—Akira didn’t eat sweets all that often, after all. This wasn’t a typical dessert, either. It wasn’t something to be found on every corner, like a bakery with those strawberry shortcakes, or creperies, or even ice cream shops. Somehow, though, it was endearing. Minato’s head dipped a little, and he held his hand over his mouth to stifle a faint laugh. “You’re still kind of a bumpkin sometimes.”

The chiding was gentle, but not untrue. While Minato had grown up moving around a bit and had spent a little time in the countryside, he’d spent most of his life in cities. He’d been exposed to a little more culture than those who spent their lives in small towns. And though Akira spent a year living in Tokyo and visited often enough, he still wasn’t a city boy. He faked it well enough, but Minato could recall some of the stories Akira had told—such as how surprised he was the first time he had seen Ann, because it was the first time he had seen someone who looked even remotely foreign up close, in real life. In a lot of ways, Akira had been sheltered from some of the broader cultures; a small, boring town may have had all the staples, but the more uncommon things fell by the wayside. And he supposed a town that relied much on a chain department store and other national brands over a wide variety of small shops may have attributed to that, too.

Still, Akira frowned a little. It was a bit of a feigned pout, but it was a bit of a sensitive spot for him. It wasn’t that he hated it; Minato wasn’t wrong, after all. As much as he had adjusted to life in Tokyo well, he still had learning to do, growing up to do, and it meant that his small town roots would sometimes get in the way of that. But his wanting to leave that small town for good and place himself where he felt like he really belonged meant that touching on his country boy roots could be a little iffy at times. He went back because he had to, and because he knew it wouldn’t threaten his bonds with everyone. But that town held no future for him—he was an outcast there, through and through, with the rumors never really ceasing. It went into overtime thanks to the rumblings of his second arrest. He didn’t have much in the way of friends there, and even his relationship with his parents was still incredibly strained. 

Sometimes, he just wanted to be a city boy. All the same, Akira knew that Minato meant no harm by it. So with the pout on his lips, he conceded just a bit by waiting for a proper response instead of arguing the point. Naturally, Minato delivered… somewhat.

“It’s called tiramisu,” the explanation came soon enough, Minato’s tone quiet, but warm and endeared by Akira’s pouting. “Just try it.”

It really wasn’t much of an explanation at all. Now Akira knew was it was called, but he had no idea what it actually  _ was _ . Maybe some would be wary, but Akira was positively gutsy—no reason to hold back at all. No fear. Just curiosity. That was enough to prompt him to cut into it with the side of his fork; Minato watched on with an almost eager intensity. His smile might have faded, but his eyes were still alight with that eagerness. Without further hesitation, Akira took a bite, and after a brief moment, his expression lit up.

  
“...It tastes like coffee,” quietly, but pleased, Akira spoke before he took another bite. It really was unlike anything else he’d ever tasted. It was true that he wasn’t much for sweets, but his fondness for coffee couldn’t be denied. That was something Akira gained an incredible taste for while he was living in Leblanc, and under Sojiro’s tutelage at the art of brewing it. Minato didn’t mind coffee, but he knew his own taste for it could never match Akira’s.

After all, the coffee that Minato enjoyed the most was the coffee that Akira would sometimes brew when he was staying in Tokyo, on nights much like the one they were presently sharing.

Akira had a fine taste for it, and the fact that he took a liking to the tiramisu, that had been enough for Minato. He settled back in his seat, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief. One of the major parts of his plan had been a success if Akira was enjoying it. And he definitely was. Truthfully, in the time Minato had known him, he’d never seen Akira devour a dessert so quickly. He’d seen him eat curry and burgers, even Salisbury steaks with that sort of speed; Minato especially knew all too well how ravenously hungry a teenage boy could be when burning so much energy at both ends of the candle all the time, after all. But desserts were something he ate slowly, often breaking up the sweetness between sips of coffee to cut through the intensity. This, though, had struck a balance between the sweetness of the ladyfingers and the other filling with the bitterness of the coffee and unsweetened cocoa.

“It’s really good,” Akira offered up, once he had demolished most of what was on his plate. His gaze shifted to look Minato in the eyes, and it was apparent that Akira was grateful for it. It was something precious to Akira, really.

Minato didn’t have to say anything for Akira to know that Minato had gone out of his way to make this for his birthday. Even without ever having seen tiramisu before, he knew that it wasn’t something bought from a store. There was a certain level of handiwork—but mostly, it came through in the flavor. The coffee used in the tiramisu had been Leblanc’s house blend, and that was a flavor profile that was incredibly unique and special in its own way. It may have been made to complement the curry they sold there, but the blend was one that Akira could recognize in his sleep. And he knew, of course, that Minato did that for him, that Minato was doing all he could to make the tail end of his birthday something extra special.

“Thank you, Minato,” softly, he spoke. Neither of them was particularly sentimental outwardly very often. Minato was gentle with his romantic gestures, but he knew sentimentality embarrassed Akira, who preferred dramatics and flamboyance to express his feelings—befitting of a gentleman thief, and befitting of someone who shared a natural affinity toward Arsène Lupin. For Akira to show that sort of softness over something like a birthday cake (or, he supposed, what acted in place of it) meant that he was honestly touched by the gesture.

Minato shook his head, though. The tiramisu was just dessert, and while it was a lot of effort, it was a worthwhile one. The time it took to utilize his own knowledge in the kitchen along with researching recipes and making the plans could never have been anything but worth his time, because seeing Akira so elated by it was worth it. At heart, at his core, Minato was a people-pleaser, and when it came to a person who had suffered unfairly, so often, and deserved that sort of happiness? Minato was happy to oblige—but it wasn’t as if the tiramisu was the only ace up his sleeve.

“That’s not even the icing on the cake, Akira.”

“...Wait, what?” Akira sounded a bit more puzzled, draining away a bit of that sentimentality. To him, it had been enough of a gift. Minato did something thoughtful (and delicious) for him as a birthday gift, and he did so  _ on _ his birthday. He got his birthday date in the end, after all, didn’t he? He couldn’t—and wouldn’t—have asked for anything else, even if some of that feeling was a lingering sentiment born from the fact that he wasn’t used to people doting on him the way he took care of everyone else.

“A cake is a cake,” obviously, Minato. “These things aren’t your gift.”

For the third time that night, Akira was left a bit dumbfounded by Minato’s actions. Which, to Minato, was also endearing in its own right. It had been an adjustment for them both, after all, to have each other this way. Minato too, had never been used to being on the receiving end of that sort of care and kindness—but it always seemed to affect Akira so much harder. Minato had gotten used to it out of apathy, because of how he grew up and how his emotions had been dulled by the presence of death in his heart and mind for a decade. Without that influence, he’d been recovering—but it was different for Akira. Akira had his life and his future taken from him at one point. He had been scarred in a different way and he had intentionally closed himself off and put the people he cared for first as a result. It was always a little sad, but as Akira opened up a bit more, Minato could be endeared by moments like the one they had been currently sharing.

Rather than leave him in suspense, Minato shifted to reach into his pocket; he pulled out a small box and slid it across the table.

“Uh,” Akira looked at Minato with an almost wary gaze. “I think it’s a little too soon for a proposal, Minato.”

He wasn’t wholly serious, but all the same, it wasn’t as if Akira could really think of what else would be gifted in a box that size. As exciting as that idea could have been, eighteen didn’t seem like the time for that. Minato, on the other hand, offered a flat stare.

“I’m not  _ that _ bad at this,” the retort was as dry as his expression. “I wouldn’t propose like that.”

Truthfully, Minato thought, he wouldn’t propose at all. Not because he didn’t think it was possible for things to escalate to that extent as they got older… but solely because he felt like Akira would do a better job. His extravagance meant he would knock it out of the park and leave Minato swept off his feet—so why would he take risk of ruining an opportunity like that? This was a birthday gift, smaller in size and scale, but still something of incredible importance, if Akira would accept it.

As he opened the small box, Akira chose to laugh off the idea of a proper proposal for the time being—but what he found in the box still was equally surprising. In it held was looked to be a house key, with a charm attached with moon and stars on it. Akira pulled it from the box, examining it. The key, the charms? Which was it?

“...I’m moving out of the dorms. I got an apartment,” Minato was at the ready with an explanation, though, so Akira didn’t have to wait long. “I want a roommate.”

_ 'I want a roommate' _  was one way of putting ' _ I want you to move in with me _ ,' but no less, Akira was still stunned by the very overt proposal.

“If you’re coming to Tokyo in the spring for University anyway… you won’t have to live here,” Minato’s head dipped a little; Akira could see the faintest flush to Minato’s cheeks. That in itself was a bit bemusing, but what Minato spoke next—

That was like having a skill repel, it made Akira’s cheeks flush. “Saying ‘welcome home,’ every day would be nice.”

It was almost  _ too _ much. Akira could feel his heart beginning to race in his chest. Minato was so cute when he wanted to be, though he doubted it was really intentional. Their banter was often playful, even in its warmth, so something like that—it was a lot to hear.

“A place… we could both call home?” Akira responded in kind after a long moment, a moment needed to try and keep his composure. That was difficult, though. Akira was usually pretty unflappable, but when Minato would be so sincere, it would hit Akira’s weak spot. That was the truth, Minato was his weak point and those opposing elements always knocked him right on his ass. He could barely even get that response in before Minato went for the  _ one more _ .

“Somewhere you can always belong,” was Minato’s simple response, looking up to Akira with a peaceful smile. In the end, Minato really couldn’t help but take care of the people around him, and Akira deserved the world.

He deserved the whole universe, for all that he had done, and for all that he had suffered in order to pull off what he did.

And while that may have been a lot for Akira to handle, he took another long moment before he pushed himself up from his seat. Minato watched on in bafflement, but Akira slid into the booth on Minato’s side, cupped both of his cheeks in his clammy palms, and kissed pressed their lips together. It was intense, it was powerful. Minato’s jaw went a little slack in acceptance, allowing for Akira to kiss him however he so desired. When Akira drew back, it was just enough to press their foreheads together; his eyes remained closed as he breathed out his response quietly.

“I don’t think you’re going to top a birthday this good next year, Minato.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick, small fluffy piece for 5/3, which is pegokita day (even if I am a day early in this timezone)! There's not much else to say aside from a thanks to my twitter followers for taking my poll on which theme to use for this fic. I had a lot of fun with it!


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